The one thing you need if you’re going to be a writer

One of the things I hadn’t anticipated after publishing Solstice was the number of questions I’d hear from friends and strangers alike. How do you become a writer? How do you self-publish a book? What do I need to do to become a writer?

My answers are usually anticlimactically simple, maybe because I don’t think there’s any great science to it. How do you become a writer? By writing. How do you self-publish a book? By doing the research and legwork and understanding the risks of doing so. What do you need to do to become a writer? Like I said, write. About anything and everything.

Yet, there’s one thing, at least, that I can offer up as one of those little nuggets of wisdom I’ve picked up along the way. And it’s pure cliché, but it’s really true. Are you ready? Ahem…

Have thick skin. Very thick skin. And, oh, be open-minded.

There’s no way around it. No matter what you write, and no matter how well or how poorly you write, reader responses are never going to be universal. Some people will like your work. Others will love it. And others will hate it. So there’s no need to go about trying to please everyone. That’s impossible. All you can do is write something that makes you happy, and just make sure it’s the best that you can do.

But in the end, it’s just as important to understand that even harsh, belittling words about your work can serve a purpose.

Praise is fun, make no mistake. When Solstice received those first reviews from Booklist and Library Journal, I felt like I had wings. And when James Rundle over at SciFiNow magazine left a message on this blog, telling me he’d enjoyed the book and was going to review it in their next issue, well… The day the magazine hit bookshelves, I could barely keep myself from jumping up and down in the bookstore parking lot on my way to pick up a copy. And every time I’ve gotten e-mails or have read blogs or reviews by people who enjoyed the book, it really seems to validate the process. Trust me, few things will make you feel as happy as a reader taking the time to e-mail you to say that your book really spoke to them.

But the flipside is just as potent. Few things will feel more like a punch to the stomach as a reader taking the time to write about how pathetic your book was.

I was reminded of this recently when a user wrote a few unkind words about Solstice. When you get this kind of thing, I think it’s normal to feel a full gamut of emotions, not all of them positive.

When I read this review, I felt defensive. I took offense to his comment about how Solstice had been voted Feminist SF’s top obscure novel because I’d incessantly asked friends and family to vote for it (hmmm….Feminist SF itself encouraged the authors on that final list to lobby their friends and family to vote for them, but okay, I guess I misunderstood that part). I took offense that he’d trashed the book even though he didn’t finish reading it. And while I understood his frustrations with the writing and the main character, it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

So there I was, feeling upset, until I remembered that little nugget of wisdom I mentioned earlier: have thick skin, and be open-minded.

In this day and age, the Internet will allow anyone to voice an opinion. And I think that’s a great thing, because literary criticism shouldn’t just be in the same hands year in and year out. I think it’s great that any one of us can get online and share our thoughts about what moved us, or what angered us. The gods know I do that enough on Quiet Earth now…

So, after putting things into context, and realizing the user was entitled to his opinion, the next wave of emotions kicked in. The more constructive, open-minded ones.

Like I said, you can’t ever please everyone, and there’s no sense in trying. But what you can do is objectively examine both positive and negative critiques, and work toward improving. As with everything else, you want to keep improving at what you do regardless.

For example, one of the consistent complaints I’ve heard about Solstice is its writing style and editing, or lack thereof. Well, there’s no way I can excuse this, really. Solstice was published on a shoestring budget (with less than half of what every self-publishing guru says is typically necessary), and I couldn’t afford the services of a professional editor. My girlfriend—also a writer—and myself edited multiple drafts side by side, doing our best to clean up the narrative. Personally, I think she did a fantastic job of pointing out areas where character development could be stronger. Io’s fixation with motherhood, for example, derived from my girlfriend’s suggestion that Io needed a greater sense of loss for us to gradually sympathize with her.

Did this make Solstice the best novel it could be? Of course not. I doubt any writer will say any draft is the absolute best it could be. Trust me, months later, you’ll pick up your perfectly published book, start reading, and find new things that could have been written better. (That’s why they say every piece of writing is ALWAYS work in progress.) And I know now, from going back and reading bits of Solstice, that it really did need another rewrite. I’ve learned a lot more about writing since then, and I’m already finding all these places in the novel where the writing could have been cleaner, the prose less convoluted, the descriptions less repetitive. I almost want to rewrite it now, for the sake of making it a better version, but content myself with the knowledge that its sequel will be better.

But, Solstice was the best I could do at the time, and while I know there’s lots of room for improvement, I’ve accepted the fact that it was a first novel. I’ve a lot to learn about my craft yet, and Solstice was my first attempt. I take some comfort in the fact that, as a first novel, it still received far more praise than I could have ever imagined. By all accounts, the book exceeded expectations.

But reviews like the one I pointed out remind me that, yes, I have lots of room for improvement. And therein lies the value of even the harshest critique. Ever since I read that review, I’ve gone back to my current novel, Inventing Vazquez, with renewed purpose. I’m pushing myself harder to make sure the writing is cleaner this time. That the prose is less wordy and less pretentious. I’m trying to ensure the narrative flow isn’t just clean, but entertaining. Because the novel is almost twice as long as Solstice, and I need to make sure people will actually want to read it.

I think I’ve spouted out nothing but common sense here, but I thought it was important to share regardless. Because the fact is, all us writers are going to get killed more often than not in the realm of literary criticism. Professional book reviewers and online readers alike won’t always like our work, and some will rip into us without mercy. They don’t care that you poured your heart and soul into your work—nor should they, because just because you poured your heart and soul into something doesn’t grant it immunity. But when they do rip into your work, just remember that it’s an opinion.

Don’t take it personally, because it’s highly unlikely the person was out to get you.

Don’t get angry, because now at least you have the impetus to want to do better on your next one.

Don’t get sad, because chances are other people did like your work. And if they’ve written to tell you so, go back and read their words as a reminder that not everyone hated your work.

Don’t start thinking you’re no good, because writing is an accomplishment that no one can take away from you, and it’s an accomplishment most people will never achieve. Feel proud about what you’ve done, and just try to do better.

And above all, don’t second-guess your decisions. Don’t think, “I shouldn’t have published that book,” or, “I should have waited a bit more,” because if we waited to write that perfect draft that would please everyone, well, there’s never be any books written.

Wow, I sure sound preachy! ^^; I don’t mean to, but I guess I know there are a lot of people out there who are fearful of writing precisely because they’re afraid of the negative feedback. Yes, negative feedback is tough to swallow, but ultimately, it makes you stronger. You just have to take the good with the bad, same as everything else. And you have to find the value in everything, even the reviews that say you shouldn’t ever be allowed near a computer again.